


come a little closer

by scootsaboot



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Roadtrip, Underage Drinking, past implied abuse, some transphobic language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-10 06:13:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12905844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scootsaboot/pseuds/scootsaboot
Summary: Tim hadn’t seen his grandmother in five years. When he got the call that she’d died suddenly, he felt he had to go see her one last time--out of guilt, or family obligation--even he didn’t know. On the way home from the funeral he meets a hitchhiker named Rhys.Tim offers him a ride.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe it's time to finally post this!! HUGE thanks to my betas jun, erica, and michelle! i dunno how many times I made you guys look at this thing, I hope you didn't get sick of it :^) 
> 
> Another big thanks to the artists who made amazing work for this fic!!  
> [lelelego](https://lelelego.tumblr.com), [spacecores](https://spacecores.tumblr.com), and [cmdonovann](https://cmdonovann.tumblr.com)
> 
> In addition to spacecore's playlist, I made my own as well, which you can find on [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/1230302162/playlist/4cObtQcCIA6JNYEqbh80ZB) and [8tracks](https://8tracks.com/scootsaboot/come-a-little-closer)

[[playlist]](https://open.spotify.com/user/simimaelian/playlist/6zseSYTxF8b16KmJXFsi5S%20) [[spacecores]](https://spacecores.tumblr.com)

The funeral was small. His grandmother’s casket was lowered into a plot in the local cemetery behind the church where she had spent every Sunday morning. With no other family to speak of, and Jack’s refusal to come, it was just Tim and the priest at the small ceremony. The priest said a few words, some of his grandmother’s favorite bible verses, and the generic spiel given at every other funeral that no one attended. 

The priest paused and asked Tim if he had any words he wanted to say. He didn’t. The service ended and the priest squeezed Tim’s shoulder in a show of support. Tim thanked him, watched him head back to the church--and wondered if he should feel guilty for not being sad.

He hadn’t seen his grandmother in nearly five years. When he and Jack had gotten the call that she’d passed, it was like trying to open a door that Tim had bolted shut the second they’d left home. Jack had laughed, said something about how he’d been waiting for that news for _ages_. He refused to attend the funeral, or have anything to do with the estate, leaving all of it to fall on Tim’s shoulders.

It would be good, is what Tim told himself, to see the house again, to bury his grandmother.

Closure, or something like it.

Once the funeral ended, he made his way to their old house. The street looked the same as it had when they were kids--the cracks in the asphalt in the same places they’d been when they were kids, never patched over in all the time they’d been gone.

The house itself looked like every other one on the block. Brick and mortar, a screen door that never sat on the hinges the right way. Walking the little concrete path up to that door filled Tim with something awful, something that made his heart beat faster and his palms start to sweat. He remembered being a kid and staying out as late as possible to avoid coming back to this place. He had to take a breath, reminded himself that he wasn’t a kid anymore—how did this stupid house _still_ have that kind of power over him?

He slid his grandmother’s key into the lock—it was old and worn, with one of those Jesus fish keychains on it—and pushed open the door. It creaked as it swung inward, revealing the living room. As Tim stepped inside, he was hit full force with the familiar scent of cinnamon, and underneath it, dust.

Walking into the living room was like stepping straight into a memory—the TV muted and illuminating the dark room, his grandmother asleep on the couch, he and Jack sneaking down from their room for some of the dinner they’d been sent to bed without. It was strange, standing in this room so many years later. Everything had seemed so big back then, so scary. Every creaky step beneath their feet could’ve meant their grandmother waking up.

Tim flipped on the light.

Now it just looked the like home of a lonely old woman. It looked so normal. The coffee table was covered in a thin layer of dust and a few weeks’ worth of mail. The huge cinnamon-scented candle was nearly burnt down to the bottom of the glass. There was a stack of lotto tickets beside a half-full glass of water, and even more were scattered on the carpet, some untouched by the lucky quarter his grandmother always used to scratch them with.

He could picture his grandmother sitting here, hunched over her tickets with her thick glasses, scratch, scratch, scratching away. Then he imagined the way the heart attack would have made her freeze up, clutch at her chest, her eyes wide.

Tim headed upstairs.  

He wasn’t surprised to find that his and Jack’s old room had been completely gutted. Their beds were gone, replaced by a small sewing table pushed up against the wall. There were none of their old toys, posters, or clothing. The only sign that they had ever lived here was the hole Jack had punched into the wall when they were fourteen. Even that had been haphazardly covered by duct tape.

Tim wondered if their grandmother had even waited a week before tossing all their things.

Later, he told the lawyer to sell it all. Anything he’d be interested in keeping had been thrown out who knew how long ago. As for the house, Tim never wanted to step foot in it again.

When he climbed back into his car, Tim gripped the steering wheel hard and let out a heavy breath. He sat there a minute, breathing through his nose, trying to get rid of the that sickly feeling in his gut. “Fuck,” he hissed. Tim fished a worn box of cigarettes from his pocket and slid one out. He was trying to be good, trying to quit—but he knew he’d need one after going into that house again. Tim slid the cig between his lips and lit it, taking a long drag. He breathed out the smoke, watching it dissipate into the air before starting the engine and pulling out of the driveway.

Tim didn’t blame Jack for not wanting to come, but he did kind of hate him for making him come alone.

 

* * *

 

As he got onto the highway, away from Huntington, Tim was glad he decided to drive himself. It gave him some room to breathe that a plane or a train wouldn’t have. His Mustang was getting up there in years, but he was confident it could make the journey, and it hadn’t let him down yet.

Three and a half hours into his drive home, Tim stopped at a small gas station near Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. He filled the tank and headed inside for some snacks. There were a few other people milling about, mostly truck drivers if the semis outside were anything to go off.

He grabbed a can of pringles and an Arizona tea and got in line at the register. There was only one person ahead of him—a guy wearing an oversized sweatshirt with a backpack on that looked ready to burst. The sweatshirt was an odd choice for the middle of summer, but Tim didn’t dwell on it. He looked around the small store while he waited; his thoughts drifting back to his grandmother’s funeral. It had been a bit of a surprise to find he was the only one in attendance. He’d thought she would at least have a couple church friends who would miss her.

“Uh...shit.” The guy at the counter cursed.  

Tim blinked and looked ahead. The guy was reaching into his pants pockets with urgency, like someone who’d forgotten their wallet. Tim peered around him as inconspicuously as he could. There were two wrinkled $1 bills beside a box of pop tarts and two bottles of water. The guy dumped a handful of pennies and dimes onto the counter.

Tim eyed the total on the register. He didn’t have enough.

Someone behind him started to tap their foot, grumbling under their breath. Tim was drained, emotionally, mentally—and he _really_ was not in the mood to see some poor kid get yelled out of a convenience store by irritable truckers.

“Excuse me,” Tim said, stepping up to the counter, both to get away from the tapping foot behind him, and to place his things in front of the cashier. “I’ll get it for him, just add the total to mine.”  

“Oh, thanks!” The guy turned toward Tim and—

Wow. Tim stared. His face was striking. A little soft, like he hadn’t fully grown into it, high cheekbones and big eyes, the warmest brown Tim had ever seen. He was smiling, bright and toothy, as he swiped his bangs away from his forehead. He reached for his pop tarts and his water and left the store before Tim could even pay for them.

Tim watched him go, the ‘no problem’ caught and died in his throat. An impatient cough behind him snapped him out of his staring. He quickly paid the cashier, feeling his face flush in embarrassment, before retreating outside. As he headed back to his car, he couldn’t help his eyes following the young man who’d been in the gas station. He had his snacks under one arm, and he was headed toward the road.

Tim tossed his own snacks in the backseat of the Mustang, fiddling with his keys while he watched the man walk across the road and up to the turn-on for the highway. He stuck his thumb out, head turned to watch the vehicles pulling out of the station.

He was hitchhiking. Why was he hitchhiking? In the middle of nowhere, Pennsylvania?

Tim looked away, shook his head. He slid into the car and started the engine. Picking up a hitchhiker would be stupid, even if he was incredibly cute. He could be a thief or worse. Tim had to be back at work in a few days. He didn’t have time to go out of his way.

He glanced at the guy again, watching him frantically wave at a semi who paid him no mind, speeding right past him and onto the highway. The guy’s shoulders slumped, but he quickly stuck his thumb out again for the next car.

Tim sighed. He pulled out of the gas station and made his way to the on-ramp. He slowed to a stop near the hitchhiker and rolled the passenger side window down.

“Hey,” he leaned toward him. “You need a ride?”

The guy let his arm fall back to his side and stepped up to the car, peering in through the window. “No, I’m just waving my arm around for fun.” The sarcasm was laid on thick—and maybe Tim found it more endearing than he should have.

“Well, you can keep waving it around in the passenger seat if you want,” Tim said, then shut his mouth, his teeth clicking together.

Why did he say that? That was weird. That was a weird thing to say. Stupid, even, given the way the cute guy at the window had tilted his head and raised his eyebrows.

“I mean.” Tim tried again. “I can give you a ride. If you need one.”

The door opened, and the cute guy at the window was now the cute guy in Tim’s passenger seat. He smiled at Tim, closed the door and set his backpack on the floor between his legs.

“Thanks,” he said, pulling on his seatbelt. “I’m Rhys.”

“Tim,” he offered in return, before pulling out onto the highway. Thank god, he could stop calling him ‘that cute guy’ in his head. “So... where are you headed?”

Rhys fiddled with the window controls, rolling it back up as they set out onto the highway. “California,” he said.

“Really?” Tim asked in surprise. “That’s...exactly where I’m going.” He glanced at Rhys, squinting. “You’re not following me, are you?”

“I’d be doing a pretty shit job if I was,” Rhys laughed. “You know, getting into your car and all.”

“Fair enough.” Tim forced himself to look away from Rhys’ infectious smile and back toward the road. “Which part of California? I’m heading back to Sacramento so if it’s NorCal, I could take you pretty close.”

“Oh, no, it’s LA,” Rhys said. “And—I don’t want to like, impose on you for the whole trip. So, whenever you get tired of me you can just let me off and I’ll catch another ride.”

“What?” Tim shook his head. “No, it’s cool. I mean, I’m headed that way anyway. It’s not a big deal. I’ll at least get you to California.”

“Alright...thanks.”

They lapsed into silence after that—the kind that could only be shared between strangers in close quarters without much to say to each other. Tim turned his full attention to the road ahead of him. His cellphone showed the GPS route they were on, and softly gave him instructions every once in awhile for lane changes.

Beside him, Rhys had pressed his forehead to the window and was either watching the scenery pass by or deep in his own thoughts. Tim couldn’t help but wonder, again, why Rhys was out hitchhiking to begin with. He looked so young—not _that_ much younger than Tim, though.  Maybe he was even the same age Tim and Jack had been when they left home. There could be a very good reason that Rhys wasn’t at home, but California was so far from here. Did he live in LA?

The crinkling of plastic pulled Tim from his questioning thoughts. He glanced toward Rhys, who had the pop tart box between his legs and was ripping into the packaging. Rhys slid a pop tart into his hand and took a surprisingly large bite, letting out a satisfied noise.

“That good, huh?” Tim laughed.

“Mhmm,” Rhys nodded, already shoveling the rest of the pop tart into his mouth.

“Jeez, don’t choke on it.” Tim said. “Don’t tell me that’s all you’ve eaten today.” Tim added, a bit of concern creeping into his voice. It was hard to tell under the baggy sweatshirt, but Rhys looked incredibly skinny. Tim wouldn’t be surprised if he’d eaten nothing but pop tarts for the past month.

“Hmm...yeah.” Rhys polished off the first pasty and reached for the second one in the foil. “Kinda hard to get quality food out in the middle of nowhere, ya know?” He bit into his second pop tart, then looked out the window. “ _Really_ hard when you’ve only got like $5.00 in your wallet.”

“Oh...uh, well, I’m sure we can find a diner when we stop for tonight. I’ll cover you.” Tim said. He might not know the incredibly cute stranger sitting in his passenger seat, but he couldn’t hear that he was living off gas station food and just let it be. It wasn’t much, but Tim at least wanted to get a good meal in him.

“Wow, twice in one day?” Rhys said as he finished off his second pop tart. “Are you sure? Wouldn’t want you to break the bank.”

“Eh,” Tim shrugged. “Bank’s already broken thanks to living in California. It’s no big deal.”

They drove through Ohio and settled back into the same quiet as before, only broken by the pointing out of landmarks every so often. There was more corn than anything, though, so it was few and far between. They stopped at a few rest stops to stretch their legs and continued on as the sun began to drop from the sky.

“So…” Rhys started. He was slumped low in his seat, long legs stretched out in front of him, his elbow resting on the armrest, propping up his head. “If you’re from Sacramento, what were you doing all the way in Pennsylvania?”

Oh, yeah, Tim probably should have expected that question to come up. He tightened his hands on the steering wheel a fraction, before relaxing them and sighing. There wasn’t really any harm in telling Rhys the truth--it wasn’t like he’d ever see him again after this trip.

“My, uh, my grandmother passed away. She lived in New York. Huntington.” Tim rubbed his jaw. “So, I drove out...and now I’m driving back.”

“Oh.” Rhys said, voice a little strained. He shifted in his seat and sat up a little straighter. “I’m sorry.”

“Ah, no, it’s okay. She was um…” Tim didn’t even know how to put it, what his grandmother was like. He settled for: “not very pleasant.”

When Rhys didn’t immediately say anything, Tim continued. “It’s okay, really. Just one of those family obligations, you know?”

“Right,” Rhys said, slumping back down in his seat. “Well...still sorry you had to deal with that. Couldn’t have been fun.”

“No, definitely not.” Tim laughed without humor.

The sun set below the horizon, painting the sky a mix of purples and reds until finally it went dark. Tim peered through the windshield, up toward the deep, clear night. A blanket of stars twinkled across the inky blue, accompanied by a sliver of the moon.

They drove passed the border of Ohio and into Indiana. Conversation had all but ceased between Tim and Rhys as they continued along the highway, almost deserted at this time of night. Tim’s eyelids started to droop, and as much as he tried to blink the tiredness away, it was stronger than he was.

He caught sight of a sign for a Motel 6 and headed for the off-ramp. The town they pulled into was tiny, couldn’t have been more than ten miles in any direction. Tim kept an eye out for places to eat as they drove to the motel. Forty-five miles per hour felt unbelievably slow after driving on the highway all day, and Tim sighed in relief when they finally made it to the motel parking lot.

There were only a handful of other cars in the lot, and the single lamppost in the center of it all was flickering, barely able to light the whole thing. Tim killed the engine and stepped out of the car, stretching his arms above his head with a sigh.

“Hey,” Rhys said as he stepped out of the car, backpack slung over his shoulder. “Um...thanks again, for picking me up and driving me. You seem cool—the last person I hitched a ride with was kind of creepy, and I’m not entirely sure he wasn’t a serial killer.”

Rhys fidgeted with his bag straps, eyes darting toward the ground and back up again. “Uh… _you’re_ not a serial killer, right?” He smiled kind of crooked.

Tim got it—being in a car with someone was one thing. Spending the night with a stranger in a motel in the middle of nowhere on the other hand…

“Well, you know, if you ask I think legally, they have to tell you.” Tim joked, grabbing his bag from the backseat. “But...uh…” he shut the door. “No, I’m not a serial killer. Or a regular killer.”

Rhys lets out a breathy laugh. “Ha, alright well—if you’re lying, can you at least promise not to make furniture out of my skin?”

“Promise. I always thought that was pretty tacky.”

Rhys snorted, and the two of them headed for the front desk.

“You didn’t have to get two beds,” Rhys said when they stepped into their room on the second floor. “I could sleep on the floor, or in the bathtub or something—”

“Rhys, come on,” Tim shook his head, dropping his bag and then himself onto the bed closest to the door. “It was like ten extra dollars.” He looked over at Rhys, raising an eyebrow. “The bathtub? Seriously?”

“Hey, I’ve done it before.” Rhys wasn’t even look at Tim, already poking his head into the bathroom, flicking the warm light on. “Do you mind if I shower before we eat? I feel so gross.”

“Go for it.” Tim said, grabbing the remote from the bedside table and turning on the TV. It only had basic cable, but Tim quickly found the cartoon channel and the sounds of Tom and Jerry filled the small room.

The shower started up.

“Ugh,” Rhys’ voice echoed from the bathroom. “The water pressure sucks.” He stepped out of the bathroom with a frown and back to his bed to rifle through his backpack. Tim watched him pull out a shirt from the corner of his eye, and then Rhys disappeared back into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Tim waited a whole minute before he tilted his head, eyes drawn to Rhys’ open backpack, curiosity tugging at him. From here, he could see the opened box of pop tarts peeking out, and what looked like a pair of shorts bundled up alongside them. He wondered if Rhys had a wallet in there, an ID of any kind? He wouldn’t be able to do much in California if he didn’t.

Tim... didn’t snoop, though. He looked away from the backpack. It really wasn’t any of his business, what Rhys had in his backpack or what he planned to do once he got to California. Even if he was the cutest person Tim had ever met and if they’d met in different circumstances Tim would have asked him out.

Maybe they would have met through a mutual friend, or at the coffee shop Tim liked to write at. Maybe Rhys would have been a university student, and maybe they would have ordered the same thing at the coffee shop...or maybe Rhys worked there and Tim got to know him because he was there so often.

Maybe Tim would work up the guts to ask Rhys out the first time he met him.

Well, it didn’t matter if Tim would, or what the imaginary Rhys in his head would say, because _this_ was their circumstances and once they got to California, Tim would never see him again.

God. Tim sighed. How sad was his romantic life that he was fantasizing about going on a date with some stranger? At least there was no one here to laugh at how pathetic it was.

The shower shut off. Tim blinked, snapped out of his thoughts. He turned his attention back to the TV just in time to watch Tom get hit in the face with an iron.

He never really liked this show.

The bathroom door opened and Rhys stepped out, toweling his wet hair. He was wearing the same jeans as before, but he’d changed into a new shirt. This one was also a little too big for him, and had the logo to some band Tim vaguely recognized on it.

The most noteworthy difference about Rhys though, was his right arm. Without the long sleeves, Tim could see it wasn’t organic. It was a prosthetic, just barely a shade lighter than Rhys’ actual skin, but it had what looked like lines of blue marker covering it, creating complex, geometric patterns.

“Cool arm,” Tim said before he could stop himself.

Rhys smiled. “I know, right? I wish it was cooler, like a proper cyborg arm. I wanted something that stood out, but all the color models were too expensive.” He looked down at his arm. “The sharpie’s kind of a new addition.”

“Well, it’s awesome.”

“Yeah.” Rhys agreed and shook his damp hair before hanging his towel over the bathroom door. He stepped into his shoes and looked at Tim expectantly. “You wanna go now? I’m starving.”

They drove to a diner a few blocks away, barely able to see the road in the town’s low light. It was like a shining beacon beneath the dark of night—something welcoming in a town without much else. The bells on the door jingled faintly when they stepped inside.

The diner had a retro style to it, like something that had jumped straight out of the 1950’s. Or maybe it really had been sitting here since then and the owners never bothered to redecorate. That was probably closer to the truth, if the cracked tiles and coffee stains on the bar were anything to go by.

The bar stretched from the front end of the diner to the back, offering an unhindered view of the small kitchen just behind it. The stools lining the bar were powder blue to match the booths that sat up against the windows. At the very far end of the diner was a jukebox, huge and bright, lit up by a rainbow of colors.

“Oh wow,” Tim said as he and Rhys slipped into a booth. “This place reminds me of a diner back in Huntington.”

Rhys put his elbows on the table, glancing up from the menu in front of him to look at Tim. “Yeah?”

Tim met his eyes and realized that Rhys probably didn’t give two shits about the diner back in Huntington and was only asking to be polite. “Yeah.” Tim nodded anyway, compelled to fill the space between them with something, anything. “Well—it’s gone now. I tried to go when I was in town. There’s a coffee shop there now. It was called Happy Daes. My brother and I used to hang out there all the time as kids. Which…” Tim rubbed his neck. “Sounds kind of weird when I say it. But they had the best milkshakes in NY.”

Happy Daes had only been a few blocks from their grandmother’s house. He and Jack hadn’t known much about their parents, but they knew their mother was a waitress there before she died. They had her picture up on the wall behind the bar and everything. Tim would sometimes stare at the picture and wonder what she was like—what she might say to him if she was there.

The picture had been nice to see on bad days—her smiling face always made Tim feel like she was watching over him and his brother. Like as long as they were in that diner, nothing bad could happen to them.

He’d felt kind of guilty about it at the time, but now that he knew Happy Daes was closed, Tim was glad he’d stolen that picture the night he and Jack left.

The diner had been his and Jack’s home away from home. They’d head there straight after school, do their homework, eat dinner, have a milkshake. The staff liked them, he thought, but he hadn’t been there in five years and maybe he was glamorizing it a little in his head. Maybe the milkshakes had only tasted so good because they’d been on the house.

“It is kind of weird,” Rhys agreed. “But I used to hang out at the harbor, so what do I know?”

Tim laughed. “A harbor? I think that’s weirder.”

“Mm, yeah. I guess” Rhys tilted his head to one side. “My friends and I had these really shitty homemade poles and traps and we’d try to catch lobsters, fish, whatever. Well, okay, _they’d_ try to catch stuff. I hated it. Fish are disgusting.”

“Yeah,” Tim agreed. “I’m...not a fan of things that swim. Seafood honestly boggles my mind.”

“ _Right_?” Rhys said. “It’s impossible to escape in Maine too, god. We actually weren’t allowed to go anymore once my friend August got a nail through his foot.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, it was ugly. I felt bad for him, but was _so_ glad they couldn’t drag me down there with them anymore.”

Tim was so focused on Rhys, he almost didn’t notice the waitress who came to stand beside their table, a small notepad in her hands. They ordered their drinks and once she left, fell into a comfortable silence. Rhys was looking down at his menu—and Tim should probably stop staring at him and do that too.

[full size](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/233411381892874241/386696742856294407/blbb_diner_21.png) [[lelelego]](https://lelelego.tumblr.com)

He dropped his gaze.

Rhys was the one to break the silence a few moments later.

“So... how come your brother isn’t with you?” he asked, and when Tim looked up, he was resting his cheek in his hand, eyes focused on Tim.

Right. Why _wasn’t_ Jack with him on a road trip home from their grandmother’s funeral? He’d avoided thinking about why Jack hadn’t come with him—if only so he didn’t end up bailing himself.

He was still little raw from it, if he was honest.. Jack, selfish and stubborn and leaving Tim to deal with their messes alone, always forcing Tim to be the responsible one.

“Jack—my brother—he never really got on with our grandmother.” Understatement of the century. “She wasn’t easy to be around. He just...didn’t want to deal with it.” That was as close to the truth as Tim was willing to get with a near-stranger in a diner in the middle of nowhere.

“Anyway,” he said, forcing a smile. “If Jack and I had to spend a week in a car together, we’d probably end up killing each other.” And _that_ was one-hundred percent the truth. Tim doubted they’d last an _hour_ before fists were flying.

“Oh.” Rhys frowned. “That’s...shitty.” He looked like he was trying to tread lightly, rolling the words around in his mouth before he said them. “Pretty unfair of him to make you go alone.”

“Oh yeah.” Tim said quickly, the smile turning genuine. “Total dick move. We argued about it for days, believe me.”

Rhys smiled back.

Their conversation dipped again. This time the waitress came around with their food. Tim had been feeling nostalgic so he ordered a classic burger, while Rhys got a short stack. They dug into their meals, Rhys more ravenously than Tim, barely taking the time to cut into his pancakes before shoving them into his mouth.

It shouldn’t have been cute. It was like watching an animal who’d been starved a week. It should _not_ be cute. But Rhys had a little bit of maple syrup clinging to his bottom lip and there was powdered sugar on his cheek and—Tim pulled his eyes away. Back to his own meal. Staring was bad—don’t be weird.

When Rhys cleared his plate, he leaned back in the booth and Tim heard him let out a quiet little sigh.

Don’t look up at him or you’ll start staring again.

“I’m going to California for school.” Rhys said, apropos of nothing. Tim did look up then, midway into a bite of his burger. Rhys smiled at him and tilted his head. “USC.”

Tim quickly chewed and swallowed what was in his mouth. “Really?” he asked, surprised at Rhys’ sudden willingness to share. It made sense though. Rhys looked young enough to be an undergrad, a freshman even.

“Yup,” Rhys said, popping the ‘p’. “My...ride kind of cancelled on me, and I didn’t have money for a plane or a bus. So here I am.” His expression turned unhappy as he spoke. The powdered sugar was still stuck to his cheek.

“What, uh.” Tim set his burger down and wiped his hand on a napkin. “What are you going to school for?”

“Biomedical engineering.” Rhys said. “Assuming I can afford the program. That’s...kind of up in the air right now.”

“Ah.” Tim knew all about money troubles. He cleared his throat, tried to nudge Rhys down a lighter path of conversation. “Biomedical Engineering though, wow. That’s some intense stuff. Why’d you pick it?”

“Oh.” That seemed to do it. Rhys sat up a little straighter, his eyes brightening. “I’ve been interested in it since I got this.” He tapped his prosthetic fingers against the table. “I just think there’s a lot of unexplored potential there, you know? Like integrating technology and the human body. Like—right now prosthetics are just barely getting to the stages of thought to function, right? But down the road...maybe we could be putting whole computer programs into prosthetics. They could constantly monitor your health, send updates to your computer, to your doctor, sense heart attacks or strokes before they even happen.”

He started to smile again as he spoke, gesturing to his own prosthetic.

“Even beyond a purely medical sense, we could be up linking our own brains to the internet. You could have a world’s worth of information at a single thought. Maybe prosthetics would start being created for more than just replacement—imagine having eyes that let you see in the dark, or that could project their own screens with a link to your super awesome _computer brain_ and let you interface with _other_ computers—”

Rhys’ face flushed, his mouth snapping shut. “Wow, sorry. I don’t know how interesting this sounds.”

Tim stared, busy trying to swallow his heart down from where it had leapt into his throat. Rhys was cute _and_ smart _and_ passionate and—

“No, I don’t mind,” Tim said quickly. “That all sounds...really amazing, actually. The science behind it is _waaay_ over my head, but really cool. I bet you’ll invent all of that once you’re out of school.”

Rhys snorted. “If I get the funding maybe. But yeah, I’d love to start my own company someday, dedicated solely to making the sickest cyborgs the world has ever seen.”

“Yeah, maybe remember me when you’re rich and famous?” Tim grinned. “Send me an autograph or something so I can sell it on Ebay.”

“Hey, I’ll sign you one right now. Hand me that napkin.” Tim handed a clean napkin over. Rhys pulled out a pen and signed his name, before sliding it back over to Tim. “There. It’ll be vintage and worth twice as much.”

“Thanks.” Tim laughed, and picked up the napkin, following the loopy script of Rhys’ name with his eyes.

_Rhys Oliver._

And maybe that should’ve been the end of it, just a joke on a cheap diner napkin, but Tim tucked it away in his pocket, like something precious.

 

* * *

 

Tim woke early the next morning, frowning under the weight of the sun pressing against his eyelids. When he finally gathered the courage to open his eyes, he saw Rhys. He was sitting up in his bed, hair sleep-tousled and the collar of his oversized nightshirt slipping dangerously down one shoulder, his pale skin practically glowing in the sunlight bleeding through the blinds. He was gazing out the window—but Tim didn’t think he was looking at anything. He looked...far away, lost in thought.

Just as Tim was starting to think maybe he should stop staring, the blaring alarm on his phone went off. Rhys looked away from the window. Tim felt his neck go hot when their eyes met, and he quickly reached for his phone to silence the alarm.

“Morning,” Rhys said once the room went quiet again. He was smiling, lopsided and tired.

“Hey,” Tim smiled back.

They made quick work of packing their things—it was easy when you didn’t have much to pack—and were soon back on the road, leaving the small town behind them. Twenty minutes into the highway, Rhys pulled his box of pop tarts out of his backpack and started to unwrap a pair.

Tim watched him from the corner of his eye. “We can stop somewhere for breakfast if you want,” he offered. After seeing the way he’d scarfed down dinner last night, Tim felt responsible for getting him fed.

“Nah, it’s cool,” Rhys bit into a pop tart. “Unless you wanna stop somewhere?”

“Not really a breakfast person,” Tim admitted. He and Jack rarely ate breakfast as kids, and it was a habit that followed him now.

“Whaaat?” Rhys complained. “But breakfast is so good. Most important meal of the day, dude. Here.” He pulled the second pop tart from his package and held it out for Tim. “Come on,” Rhys waved the pop tart when Tim didn’t immediately reach for it. “It’s the best flavor.”

“Alright, alright,” Tim said, taking a hand off the wheel to grab the pastry. “Twist my arm, why don’t you?”

Rhys grinned and sat back in his seat, finishing off his own pop tart.

Tim ate his in just a few bites, licking the brown sugar taste from his lips when he finished. He hadn’t had a pop tart in years. Definitely not as good as he remembered. Rhys was right though, it was the best flavor.

Rhys leaned forward to fiddle with the radio, sifting through static and country music until he landed on station playing classic rock. They drove on in relative silence, making small comments to each other about silly billboards and even playing a short game of I Spy.

It didn’t last long—Tim had to take a good couple of minutes to “spy” something, and when he finally had, Rhys was asleep, his forehead resting against the window. Tim turned down the radio to a quiet murmur and let him nap.

Several hours and two bottles of water later, Tim needed to pee. _Really_ needed to pee. Crap, he should have pulled over at the last gas station they passed. Too late now. Tim squinted through the windshield, looking for any sign of an upcoming rest stop. The only sign up ahead told him how many miles it was until Cleveland.

Shit, he really didn’t want to have to pull over and pee on the side of the road.

He kept driving, and then like an answer to his prayers, saw the top of a huge, white cross, peeking up over the horizon. The next sign he saw called the roadside attraction ‘America’s Largest Cross’ and that it could be accessed from the next exit.

Thank God.

Tim flicked on his turn signal and headed for the off-ramp. The road quickly turned from flat concrete to a bumpy dirt. The cross itself was in the center of an expansive field, accompanied by a large house that Tim guessed was used for church services. Honestly all he could think about was getting inside to use their restroom.

He parked the car and killed the engine. Beside him, Rhys jerked awake, eyes sleepy as he pulled himself upright and looked around in confusion.

“Hey, sorry,” Tim said, already climbing out of the car. “Gotta use the restroom. Be back in a minute.”

He practically ran up to the house’s front doors. They were open wide and welcoming, and a blast of cool air hit him as he made his way inside. He found the restroom and quickly relieved himself with a sigh, before heading back outside. There were a few groups of tourists milling around the church house, and even more were near the cross, taking pictures and huddling together.

When he made it back to the car, Rhys was standing beside it, hands in his pockets.

“Who is this cross for?” Rhys asked, gesturing to the thing. “Paul Bunyan?”

“What? Are you saying it’s unnecessarily big or something?” Tim grinned. He looked at the tall cross, at the people surrounding it. “You wanna go check it out? Stretch our legs for a bit?”

Rhys shrugged. “If you want.”

They made their way across the field, past the mostly older women who were walking to and from the cross. It felt nice to get out of the car for a while; Tim’s legs had been starting to cramp up. When they got closer to the base of the cross, Tim realized that the people huddled beside it were praying, their heads bowed and whispering.

Tim’s grandmother had been Catholic, which by association had made him and Jack Catholic. While they were young and she was still able to force them to church every Sunday, anyway. Tim hadn’t stepped foot in a church since he was sixteen, and while the notions of hell had frightened him as a child, he no longer believed in a higher power.

America’s largest cross was pretty gaudy.

One-hundred-and-ninety-eight feet tall, the sign said—bigger even than the Groom Cross in Texas. Ah, so it was built out of spite. It was as good a reason as any.

Tim dragged his eyes away from the top of the cross to look at Rhys. He half-expected to share a mutual eye-roll on behalf of America’s Largest Cross, but Rhys wasn’t looking at him. He wasn’t looking at the cross either, but at the families who were praying. Rhys had a slight pinch between his brow and one hand clasped around the back of his neck, fingers pressing into his skin. His face was turning pink from the sun.

“You ready to go?” Tim asked, reaching out to gently touch his arm.

“Hm?” Rhys blinked and looked at him. “Oh, yeah.” He smiled with too many teeth. “Sure.”

When they got back to the car, Rhys sank into the passenger seat with a quiet sigh and kept his head turned toward the window. Tim started the car and they got back on the highway, letting the cross disappear behind them.

“So…” Tim tried after nearly a half hour of silence. Rhys was still slumped down in his seat, watching the scenery pass by. It couldn’t have been very interesting. There was nothing but empty fields around here. It seemed like that giant cross had really bothered him for some reason, or maybe it was the Christians; either way, Tim decided he didn’t like a sullen Rhys. “What kind of movies do you like?” He asked, aiming for casual.

Rhys rolled his head to look at him, not even bothering to sit up straight. It kind of reminded Tim of an irritable teenager who’d just been woken from a nap. Which...was maybe not entirely inaccurate. “Uh...I dunno, sci-fi, I guess?” Rhys said, brows pinching together. “Alien, Space Odyssey, Star Trek...that kinda stuff.”

“Oh, I like sci-fi.” Tim grinned. “Not a fan of the scary ones, but Star Trek is great, and the Matrix. I’m more of a fantasy guy myself, though.”

“Yeah?” Rhys asked, shifting to sit up a little straighter. Tim pat himself on the back for that small victory. “Like Lord of The Rings?”

“Mm, yeah. Honestly though, I think Hollywood’s kind of lackluster in the high fantasy department. Most of it’s pretty bad. I usually just stick to reading it. Or, y’know. Video games.”

Tim saw Rhys perk up out of the corner of his eye. “You play video games? What kind? Do you play Age of Pandora? Concordia?”

“Jeez, Concordia? That game is like thirty years old.” Tim laughed. He hadn’t heard that name in forever—he was pretty sure the last time he’d played it had been in middle school at a friend’s house. “Age of Pandora on the other hand...yeah. I’ve got a level 46 Paladin.”

“No way!” Rhys was grinning now, leaning forward in his seat. “I play an Arcane Mage. I only started a couple months ago, so I’m not a very high level—we should play together sometime!”

“That’d be awesome,” Tim agreed. He wasn’t on very often thanks to work, but he could make time to play with Rhys once they both got where they were headed.

They talked about their likes and hobbies for the next few hours. Tim learned that on top of engineering, Rhys was also into coding and had even made a few websites.

“Just for stupid stuff, really.” Rhys had said. “Like one had a bunch of terrible pictures of this guy I hated in high school. I shared it on the school’s twitter. Got suspended for three days,” he said proudly.

“Pfft,” Tim shook his head. “Only three days? You’d have been out for a week at my high school.”

Rhys looked at Tim, one eyebrow raised.

“Catholic school,” Tim said.

Rhys made a face. “Ugh. Did the nuns hit your fingers with rulers, or whatever?” His eyes dropped to Tim’s hands, as if he was looking for scars.

“No, they don’t do that anymore.” Tim flexed his fingers around the steering wheel. “I’m sure they wanted to, though, especially with all the back-talk Jack gave them. I think he was on suspension more often than he was in class.”

Rhys snorted. “What about you?” He asked. “Did you ever get suspended?”

“Only once. Got caught smoking behind the dumpster during lunch.”

Tim could barely remember that day, but he remembered the way his hands shook as he lit his cigarette. He remembered wet sheets and yelling and cat fur stuck to his sweater, too twisted into the fibers to pluck out.

“You smoke?” Rhys asked. Tim glanced at him, the memory fading from his mind.

“No,” Tim said, looking back at the road. “Well, sometimes. I’m trying to quit.”

“Oh...so...do you have any cigarettes on you?”

“Why? You want one?”

“If you’re offering. I could take them off your hands. Y’know, if they’re too tempting.”

Tim thought of the half-empty pack in his pocket. Thought of Rhys with a cigarette between his lips. He shook his head. “No. I’m not giving you a cigarette, Teenager I Found On The Side of The Road.”

“Oh, come on.” Tim could _feel_ the weight of Rhys’ pout on him. “What if I ask real nicely? Pretty please?”

“Cute. No.”

[full size](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/371349178850476033/386968203688935424/BLBB1.png) [[cmdonovann]](https://cmdonovann.tumblr.com)

When the sun started to dip low in the sky, Tim pulled into a small gas station so they could grab something to eat. Rhys nabbed a few snack cakes and sodas while Tim grabbed something a _little_ more on the ‘real food’ spectrum. Gas station hot dogs had never done him dirty before, and he hoped they wouldn’t now.

“Hey, so,” Tim started, leaning against the car as he waited for the tank to fill up. Rhys was on the other side, already digging into his hostess cake. “Uh.” Tim scratched his chin. “I hadn’t really planned on getting motels for most of the trip back home. I was gonna sleep in the car. There’s a campground not too far from here that I had on the map to sleep tonight.”

Rhys scrunched his face up.

“But—” Tim continued quickly. “We can get another motel if you want. The car isn’t very comfortable, and I don’t want _you_ to be uncomfortable.” Tim wondered if maybe he should be concerned that he was willing to drop even _more_ money on this guy, but Rhys’ face smoothed back into something neutral. Then he shrugged, cheeks puffed out a little from the cake in his mouth.

“Whatever. I’m a freeloader. We can sleep wherever you want.” He took another bite of cake. The gas pump clicked, shutting off. Rhys slipped into the passenger side of the car and looked at Tim through the open window. “Just as long as it wasn’t your plan all along to get me alone in the woods to murder me.”

“It wasn’t. That’s not _your_ plan, right?” Tim asked, closing the gas tank and settling back into the car. “I’ll tell you right now I’m a screamer.”

Rhys covered his mouth, barely managing to stifle a laugh. “I’ll...uh, keep that in mind.”

Tim felt himself flush, realizing what he’d just said. He turned away from Rhys and kept his eyes on the road as they left the gas station.

The sky turned pink and purple as they drove to the campsite, the moon starting to peek through the colors of the sunset. Tim turned down a dirt path road, the old wooden sign reading ‘Fox Lake Campgrounds’. It was dark when they arrived, the tall trees blocking out the light from the moon and stars.

They came to a stop at a small area near the lake. Across it, Tim could just barely make out the fires of other campers. He and Rhys climbed out of the car to stretch their limbs, and Tim sighed when his back cracked. Rhys was circling the small camp area, eyeing the picnic bench and fire pit. Tim kind of wished he’d brought something to cook on it, maybe even some s’mores.

Tim shook his head and leaned into the car, pushing both the seats back as far as they could go, and laying them out flat. Maybe not the most comfortable way to sleep, but—Tim looked up at the stars—it was a nice view at least.

He and Rhys ate what was left of the convenience store snacks, too lazy to go try to find some real food at the late hour. Tim was going to have to go to the gym twice as often when he got back home to work off all this sugar. When he said as much, Rhys laughed.

“I think the last time I was in a gym was for P.E.” Rhys said, flattening out his empty pop tart box and laying back in his seat. He grabbed one of the blankets Tim had brought in from the trunk and pulled it over himself. It wasn’t quite long enough for him, and his socked feet rested against the dash, toes curled.

Tim dragged his eyes away before he was caught staring. He glanced up at the sky through the windshield—just like the previous night, the stars were the brightest thing in the sky. He really needed to get away from the city more often.

“Do you mind if I put the top down?” Tim asked, already reaching forward, hesitating over the latch.

Rhys picked his head up to look at Tim, a surprised smile on his face. “Hell yeah, put the top down!”

Tim put the top down. When he slid back into the car and laid down, he was greeted by the sea of stars above him. Crickets chirped in the trees, and there were tiny lights buzzing through the air. Fireflies, he realized. Tim couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a firefly in person.

It was...nice, being out here, so far removed from the loud bustle of the city. Tim liked the calm quiet, liked sharing it with someone. He glanced over at Rhys, who had his eyes on the sky, a few wayward bangs falling gently across his forehead.

Rhys tilted his head, and Tim looked away before he was caught staring. Tim cleared his throat as he looked up at the stars. “Do you know any constellations?”

“Hmm…” Rhys hummed. He pointed up at the sky. “You see those bright ones that kinda go like…” he waved his finger around.

“Those ones?” Tim pointed at a group of stars that made a curved line.

“Yeah. Looks kinda like a dick, huh?”

Tim snorted. “Man, what? I thought you were going to lay down some real knowledge.”

Rhys laughed. “Sorry, I slept through astronomy. Oh!” He pointed again. “I know that one though. That’s the bear. Ursa whatever.”

“Mm, yeah, Ursa Whatever and Ursa Whozit. My favorites.”

“Y’know…” Rhys said sometime later, after they’d pointed out more constellations and made up stories to go along with them. It’d been quiet a few minutes and Tim was halfway to sleep. “My dad took me camping one time.” Rhys’ voice was gentle, almost like a whisper.

Tim blinked the sleep from his eyes. He didn’t want to miss whatever Rhys was about to tell him.

“I really hated it,” Rhys continued. “No shower, no beds, bugs everywhere—having to eat shitty campfire food. My dad even made me fish with him, and then help him get the fish ready for dinner.”

Tim could imagine it—Rhys with a slimy fish in his hands, having to descale it, a displeased pout on his face.

“I complained the whole weekend.” Rhys said, then snorted. “He got tired of it and asked if I was being so bitchy because I was on my period.”

Tim tilted his head to look at Rhys, brows furrowing. “Sounds like an asshole.”

Rhys didn’t look at him, keeping his eyes fixed on the stars above them. There was a long stretch of silence between them, until Rhys swallowed, glancing at Tim.

“Yeah. Anyway…” he said, voice even quieter now. “This is better. Thanks.”

Tim’s heart stuttered in his chest, and he quickly looked away, back at the sky, lest Rhys see way his face had flushed. He didn’t know what it _was_ about Rhys that always left him red-faced and his hands a little sweaty. It wasn’t like this was a date; Rhys just needed his help to get somewhere. Tim threw his arm across his eyes and took a silent breath.

Tim couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt such a strong and sudden pull toward someone. It was scary. It sucked. Why couldn’t this have happened with that nice girl he’d met at the coffee shop a couple months ago? Why did it have to be this guy Tim barely knew? This guy who’d leave him in a few days—who Tim would never see again.

“Night, Tim.” Rhys murmured.

Tim let his arm fall back to his side and sighed.

“Night, Rhys.”

 

* * *

 

“Oh, shit,” Tim cursed, grip tightening on the steering wheel as the car started to wheeze and sputter, a cloud of smoke billowing from the hood. With a frown, he pulled over to the side of the road and killed the engine.

They’d left the campground bright and early that morning, yawning through their fast food breakfast as they made their way back onto the highway. They’d just barely made it past the Wyoming border, the sun starting to dip in the sky in the late afternoon.

Tim popped the hood of the trunk and stared down at the mess of machinery and wires inside.

“What happened?” Rhys asked, stepping into the spot beside Tim.

“I…” Tim tried to search through his backlog of car knowledge and quickly came up empty. “I have no idea. The engine is...broken, maybe?” He really should have gotten the car serviced before he made the trip, but he hadn’t even thought about it. Tim lifted his head and squinted into the distance. He didn’t see any other cars coming this way, and who knew how far it was to the next town?

“Well this sucks,” Rhys said. “Please tell me you have cell service. I don’t want to die on the I-99.”

Tim quickly grabbed the phone from his pocket and held it up—three bars. He let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, unlocked the screen, and went looking for the number for Triple A.

The sun beat down on them as they waited by the side of the road for the tow truck. Tim dragged his arm across his sweaty forehead with a sigh. They only had one bottle of water left between them and it was already half empty in Rhys’ hand, condensation wetting his fingers.

Tim looked at Rhys, watching as a small bead of sweat trickled down his sun-red neck. How cliché was this? Going on a cross-country road trip and breaking down in the middle of nowhere. It was like something out of a romance novel. Wait, no, just a regular novel. This never happened in romance novels.

“...Tim?”

Tim blinked and tore his eyes away from Rhys’ neck, his face going warm from more than just the heat. Rhys was looking at him with a crooked smile, eyebrows raised.

“Huhwha?”

“Water?” Rhys was holding the water bottle out to him. He shook it, making the water slosh inside.

“Oh. Thanks.”

Once the bottle was empty, Tim dug his thumb into the plastic, denting it and popping it back out again. They’d been waiting for a good half hour by now, and a few cars had passed them by, one even stopping and the man in the front seat had leaned out to ask if they needed help. Tim told the man no, that a tow truck was on the way, but he couldn’t help thinking that maybe he should’ve asked where he was going. Rhys was his passenger only because they were both headed to California—what if that man had been heading there too? Rhys probably didn’t want to wait around in some mechanic shop waiting for the car to get fixed. Maybe he needed to be in California by a certain date or something.

“Hey,” Tim finally said, lifting his head to look over at Rhys. “This wasn’t really part of the plan, so, uh, I can help you get another ride if you want. I don’t know if you need to get to LA quickly or…and who knows how long it’ll take to get the car fixed.” Tim glanced down the highway. “If the tow truck ever even gets here.”

“Well it is _miserable_ out here, and sitting in the A/C sounds pretty nice,” Rhys said with a sigh. He tilted his head and looked at Tim. “But I don’t want to leave you out here to starve or whatever. Or die of heat exhaustion. Or get eaten by coyotes.” He pursed his lips, eyebrows knitting together. “Are there coyotes out here?”

“I think that’s further west, maybe.”

“Okay, well, whatever wild animal that might come to eat you out in the middle of nowhere. I don’t actually have to be at school for another two weeks. I don’t mind waiting, as long as we can get something cold later. Like popsicles.”

“Ha.” Tim smiled, trying to ignore the way his heart fluttered. Rhys didn’t jump at the chance to get in another stranger’s car. He liked Tim. Probably. “I will definitely buy you a popsicle wherever we end up. And if not that, a big bag of ice you can roll around in.”

“My hero.” Rhys smiled back at him.

By the time the tow truck pulled up beside them with a wheeze, Tim could feel his shirt sticking uncomfortably to his skin. He was afraid to look at himself and see where the sweat had soaked through. The tow guy (Daryl, his nametag said) hitched the car up and offered Tim and Rhys a ride up front with him in the A/C.

“Ohh my god,” Rhys moaned when he slid into the middle seat. The A/C was on high, blowing cold air right into their faces. Tim shut the door and settled in, leaning forward and pulling his shirt away from his chest to let the air blow into it.

“Whew, sorry for the wait.” Daryl said. “It’s a hot one out today.”

“No kidding.”

“Well, settle in. We got about a forty-five-minute drive to the garage.”

It was nice, not having to drive for a little while. Tim relaxed into his seat, head tilted back and eyes closed. The A/C was working overtime to cool him and Rhys down, but Tim was still sweaty under his clothes. Particularly, his left thigh, where Rhys’ was pressed tight against it, was still warm. Overly so. It was sticky and uncomfortable and yet Tim couldn’t bring himself to pull his leg away. If Rhys noticed or was bothered by it, he made no indication of it. Tim swallowed and tilted his head to the side, opening his eyes to watch the scenery go by.

There wasn’t much out there but farmland. They passed cows and horses mostly, all grazing in the dimming light. As they got closer to their destination, the grass fields turned into crop fields. Tim was never much into agriculture, but he could recognize wheat when he saw it—and he saw _lots._ Rows upon rows of the golden crop, swaying gently in the breeze and looking like melted gold in the sunset.

Finally, Daryl pulled off the highway and toward a small roadside town. If ‘town’ was even the right word for it. It was even smaller than the last one they’d stayed the night in. All Tim could see was the small mechanic shop they were headed for, a Motel 6, and a Walmart. The Walmart was the biggest building, even though it was on the small side for the superstore chain. It towered above the other small-town businesses like the giant, soul-sucking conglomerate that it was.

Tim had gotten a job at the neighborhood Walmart not long after he and Jack left their grandmother’s house. It was something he tried to put behind him, but a small shiver always went down his spine when he saw the sign for one.

They pulled up to the mechanic shop, the paint on one of the closed garage doors labeling it ‘Joe’s Auto’. There were a few men in coveralls working inside, leaning over a car that was missing its wheels, the hood propped up. Daryl quickly got Tim’s car into one of the open spaces and brought Tim and Rhys over to talk to the mechanics. It was nearly dark now, the purple sky taking a turn for a deep blue as the moon came out of hiding.

“We closed at seven,” one of the mechanics told Tim, a greasy rag in his hands. “But I’ll take a look and see what’s wrong with it before I head home. Shouldn’t be too hard to fix.”

Tim exchanged information with him, leaving his phone number so the mechanic could give him a call later to tell him what was wrong with his poor Mustang.

“Well.” Tim said as he and Rhys walked away from the mechanic shop. “What do you wanna do? We’ve got…” he looked across the street at the Walmart and Motel 6. “…uh, the whole world is our oyster. Or something.”

“Wow, so many choices. It’s hard to decide.” Rhys said, hands on his hips as he looked over their many entertainment options. He pointed at the Walmart. “Let’s get popsicles first, then we’ll hit the rest of the town.”

They crossed the single, worn street that cut through the town and made their way to the Walmart. Tim sighed as soon as they stepped through the sliding doors, greeted by a rush of cool air and bright lights. They may have been stuck in the middle of nowhere, but at least Walmart was always the same no matter where you went.

There was only one open register at the front, and the old woman behind it was slouching, her glasses drooping down her nose and her head bent forward—asleep on the job. Rhys snickered as they passed her by and headed for the frozen foods near the back of the store. The place felt even smaller on the inside, but at least the popsicles were easy to find.

“Can I change my mind on the popsicles?” Rhys asked, stopping short in front of the freezer door that held ice cream behind it. He wasn’t even looking at Tim, but at the mint chocolate chip carton on the wire shelf.

“Bleugh, mint chocolate?” Tim made a face. “If you’re gonna get ice cream at least get something good.”

“Hey!” Rhys shot him a look. “Mint chocolate chip is _delicious_.”

“Maybe if you don’t know what a _good_ flavor is.” Tim grinned, reaching for the freezer door. He grabbed two of the Ben and Jerry’s pints: one Mint Chocolate and one Rocky Road.

“Rocky Road? You have no room to talk, pal.” Rhys rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tim handed the ice cream off to Rhys. “We should probably grab some real food for dinner too.”

They explored the small dry food section nearby and quickly decided on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. It was cheap and they wouldn’t have to try boiling water in the coffee pot at least—even if Tim was sort of craving a hot meal. They’d be back in California soon, he could wait.

“Hey, check it out,” Rhys said on their way out, coming to a stop. Tim looked at where he was pointing—the toy aisle. Rhys shuffled the ice cream into the crook of his arm and grabbed a toy off the shelf. It was a large, green fist, the colorful packaging loudly proclaiming it to be the Hulk’s. Rhys grinned and stuck his left hand into the opening and pulled the oversized fist down to his wrist. _“Hulk smash.”_ He reached out and lightly punched Tim in the shoulder.

“ _Ow_ ,” Tim gasped, rubbing at the spot. “Rude. I’ll…” he glanced over the toys available to him. He grabbed a plastic replica of Thor’s hammer and held it out toward Rhys. “Send you to Hel myself. By the power of Odin.” Tim smacked the hammer against Rhys’ toy fist, and they both laughed.

“Nah, I change my mind. I don’t want to be the Hulk.” Rhys said, pulling the fist off and hanging it back on the shelf. “He’s ugly.”

“Savage.” Tim laughed, hanging the hammer back up as well. “He can’t help it that he’s a big green monster.”

“Whatever.” Rhys stepped away from the toys. “Spider-Man is way cooler. _And_ he’s cute.”

“Is that your basis for judging superheroes? How cute they are?” Tim asked as they headed back to the front of the store. The old woman jerked awake when they set their things down on the conveyor belt and greeted them with a tired smile.

“Uh, yeah?” Rhys said, his voice quieter while they got checked out. “Like, if superheroes were real, would you want to be saved by someone ugly? No way. I can’t date ugly. You’ve seen me, right? I don’t wanna be one of those couples—you know, attractive person with an ugly person? How unfair.”

Tim snorted and shook his head. “You’re assuming you’d start dating a superhero?” He paid the cashier and he and Rhys made their way out of the store with their purchases.

“Yeah?” Rhys gave him a look like he was stupid. “You think I wouldn’t?”

“Should I call you Rhys Parker, then?”

“More like Rhys Stark. It doesn’t sound as good but…could you _imagine_ being in a relationship with Tony Stark?”

“It didn’t end well for the last person who was, I’m pretty sure.”

Tim’s phone buzzed in his pocket, accompanied by the standard ringtone jingle.

“Oh, hang on,” he said, shuffling the bags to one hand so could grab his phone. “Hello?” Tim answered. It was the mechanic they’d spoken to earlier; Tim listened as he explained what was wrong with the car, and how much it’d cost to get it fixed.

“Okay…thanks.” Tim sighed as he hung up and slipped his phone back into his pocket.

“What’s up?”

“It’s something to do with the engine. They don’t have the part they need to fix it here though, and he said they have to drive out to the next town to get it tomorrow. Sooo…looks like we’re staying the night.”

“Aw, you don’t want to just hoof it the next 1000 miles?” Rhys grinned, reaching into the bag on Tim’s arms to fish out his pint of ice cream and a plastic spoon.

“Y’know, I think I’m good.”

They headed over to the Motel 6 and got a room for the night. It was just as shitty as the last motel they’d stayed at, but this one had a small pool out front. Tim frowned at his quickly thinning wallet when they finally set their things down in the room. He hadn’t brought a _ton_ of cash with him—of course, he hadn’t planned on picking up a passenger or the car breaking down, so it was going a lot quicker than he’d initially expected.

He’d rather avoid breaking out his credit card; he _just_ got it paid off, and there was no way in hell he was calling Jack to ask for money. He’d never hear the end of it if he did, and he’d learned a long time ago that owing Jack was never worth it.

“Your face is going to stick like that.” Rhys said, breaking Tim from his thoughts. Tim looked up; Rhys had taken off his shoes and was sitting cross-legged on the bed he’d claimed. His ice cream already had a sizeable dent in it. Rhys licked his spoon, one eyebrow raised as he looked at Tim. “What’s wrong?”

Tim closed his wallet and tucked it into his back pocket. “Nothing, I just…getting the car fixed is going to set me back a little.”

“Oh.”

“Aren’t you supposed to eat dinner _first?_ ” Tim asked, gesturing the ice cream in Rhys’ lap.

“Whatever,” Rhys shrugged and took another bite.

Tim wasn’t the kind of person who ate dessert before dinner—it just wasn’t right. He made himself a PBJ and took a seat at the tiny little desk by the door to eat it.

“Hey.” Rhys said after Tim had gotten a couple bites into his sandwich, mouth full of peanut butter. “I can…help, with getting the car fixed, I mean.”

Tim glanced at him. Rhys wasn’t looking at him. He was leaning over the side of the bed, rifling around in his backpack. “I know you’ve probably spent way more money than you would have if I wasn’t here.”

“Not… _way_ more—” Tim tried to say around the food in his mouth.

“Tim, come on.” Rhys pulled something out of his backpack and got off the bed, making his way over to the desk. “Here.” He held out a wrinkled one-hundred-dollar bill.

Tim looked at the money, then at Rhys. He swallowed. “I thought you said you didn’t have any money. You didn’t have enough to buy three-dollar pop tarts.”

“I lied.” Rhys said, deadpan. “Works every time. Maybe you should be a little less eager to shell out for a cute face.”

What a _brat._ “I’m—not _eager_.” Tim huffed. He felt like he should be mad about this. Irritated at the least. Strangely enough, he wasn’t. “And who said you had a cute face?”

Rhys smiled at him and set the money on the table.

“No, I’m not taking your money.” Tim said, sliding the bill back toward Rhys. “The car would have broken down whether you were here or not.”

“Oh, come on,” Rhys slid the bill back. “No one does anything without expecting some kind of payment. Consider this mine.”

“Wh—yes they _do_ .” Tim furrowed his brows. “People do things for free all the time. Out of the goodness of their hearts, or…whatever. Rhys, you don’t owe me anything. I wouldn’t _ask_ you for anything.”

Rhys’ face was unreadable, blank in the dim light of the room. “So, you’re driving me across the entire country out of the goodness of your heart.”

Well, Tim didn’t say _that_.

“Is that the only reason?”

They looked at each other, Tim’s sandwich forgotten in his hands. This felt like one of those moments where things changed irreversibly. Like that one turning point there was no coming back from.

“Yeah?” Tim replied after a moment, internally wincing at the way his voice had pitched it into a question. He could feel heat crawling up his neck and he really hoped Rhys looked away before it reached his face.

Rhys looked at him; Tim couldn’t decipher whatever it was in his eyes. “Alright.” Rhys finally said with a small shrug. “Well, if you’re not going to use it for the car, at least go buy us some alcohol.”

Tim let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, tension draining out of him even as his heart threatened to break through his ribcage. “Okay. Yeah.” He shoved the rest of his sandwich in his mouth and pocketed the hundred before hurrying out the door.

He took his time on the way back to Walmart, letting the warm summer air clear his head. It’d been so long since he’d had such a _stupid_ crush, he barely knew how to act. Something fluttered in his stomach as he thought about Rhys, the look on his face when he’d asked Tim if there was another reason he was helping him.

_Stupid_ . Tim shook his head. Just get over yourself. Rhys was just a temporary companion. He was like a guy who took the same bus as you one time, or you saw at the supermarket, reaching for the same box of cereal, or even someone you ordered a coffee from once. _Not_ someone to get a crush on, not someone to get worked up over. Just. Someone.

Tim took even longer to grab the alcohol; he didn’t know what Rhys liked and he was going to use that to his advantage for as long as reasonably possible. The cashier looked at Tim through her thick glasses, then down at the two six-packs on the conveyor belt.

In his haste to leave the room, Tim had kind of forgotten that Rhys was _definitely_ not old enough to drink, and he looked it. Tim flashed a grin at the cashier; hopefully she’d been too out of it earlier to remember Rhys had been with him. Of course, that brought up another problem for him—was he seriously about to buy alcohol for an underage kid? God, no, okay. Tim wasn’t that much older than Rhys. If Rhys was eighteen, it was only three years—he really needed to stop thinking about him as some kid. Tim vividly remembered being eighteen and trying to get someone older to buy him drinks. He’d been responsible. Rhys was responsible.

The cashier smiled at him and rang up the beer and cider, her frail hands tapping each key on the cash register one at a time.

When he left the store again, he had a six-pack in each hand and about eighty-five dollars in change to give back to Rhys. Rhys was sitting back on his bed when Tim returned, biting into a PBJ, the outdated TV cheerfully playing a colorful advertisement.

“Oooh, gimme.” Rhys reached a hand out, making a grabby motion. Tim snorted, setting the two 6-packs on the desk. He pulled a cider out of the box and handed it over to Rhys, who pressed the heel of his prosthetic hand against the cap and twisted it off with a pop.

“Woah, cool.” Tim said, taking a seat on his own bed with a beer. The thing in his chest had settled a little now—at least, he didn’t feel like running away again.

“Yeah. Comes in pretty _handy.”_ Rhys winked at him, before tilting the bottle and taking a long drink.

Rhys was a fast drinker it turned out, and he quickly went through his second, third, fourth cider, before even grabbing for one of the beers in the other six-pack while Tim was still nursing his second beer.

“Hey, maybe you should take it easy.” Tim said when Rhys got halfway through his beer. The last thing he wanted was for Rhys to throw up—he didn’t know how much it’d cost in cleanup and he’d rather not find out.

“Pshh, this is nothing,” Rhys waved him off, his cheeks a little pinker than before. “Next time we’ll get some _real_ alcohol. This is for babies.”

“Babies, huh?” Tim rose an eyebrow. “How old are _you?_ ”

Rhys sniffed and tilted his chin up. “Old enough.” He downed the rest of his beer and set the empty bottle on the bedside table along with the rest before rolling off the bed and jumping to his feet. “Let’s go swimming!”

Before Tim could open his mouth to say, _maybe that’s not such a great idea_ , Rhys was already slipping out of his pants. He snatched two towels from the bathroom counter and practically threw open the door, before disappearing outside. “C’mon!” Tim heard him shout, voice echoing through the empty halls.

Tim shook his head fondly and finished off his beer. He followed Rhys down to the small pool that sat beside the parking lot. It was glowing under the dark sky, bright and turquoise, like something radioactive. Rhys was standing on the set of stairs that led into the pool, the water lapping at his shins, the light bouncing off his cheeks. When he spotted Tim stepping through the metal gate, he grinned.

“It’s cold,” Rhys said, looking down at his feet. “Feels nice.”

Tim would be lying if he said he wasn’t interested in going for a late-night swim with Rhys. He pulled his shirt off, then shimmied out of his pants, before folding them and setting them on the pool chair Rhys had haphazardly left their towels on. When he looked up, Rhys was watching him. Tim flushed and hoped the light of the pool wouldn’t give him away.

“Aren’t you going to take your shirt off?” he asked, motioning to the loose graphic tee Rhys was still wearing. Rhys didn’t answer him, only smiled wider before hurrying into the pool and dunking his head under. When he surfaced, he was at the deeper end; he pushed a hand through his soaking hair, sweeping it away from his face.

Tim was drawn to him like a moth to the flame. He stepped into the pool, shivering at the sudden chill, but didn’t stop until the water reached his shoulders.

“Hey.” He said once there were only a few feet between him and Rhys, both treading water.

“Hi.” Rhys said, voice low, his eyes bright with something that made Tim’s chest constrict. There was a bead of water sliding down his face; it clung to the corner of his mouth, to his pink lips.

Rhys splashed him, sending a wall of water into his face. Tim spluttered, wiping at his eyes with a laugh. When he opened them, Rhys was laughing as well and swimming backwards, away from him.

“Get back here!” Tim shouted and swam after him, splashing him back once he was within range. Rhys shrieked and tried to shield himself with his arms, before retaliating with an even bigger splash. They swam around each other, splashing and kicking, filling the quiet night with their laughter.

Tim couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this much fun. When he was younger and felt like university was some unattainable thing, he always imagined that if he ever went, he’d go out partying with his friends and they’d drink until the sun came up. But he never made many friends, and instead of going out, he was usually in his dorm on the weekends, finishing projects and getting a head start on homework weeks in advance. Once he was actually _there_ , he’d been so afraid of falling behind, of losing his scholarships, of being forced to go home. He’d been so focused on never going back to surviving beneath his grandmother’s thumb that he never really made time to enjoy himself.

Rhys grabbed onto Tim’s shoulders and dunked him beneath the pool’s surface. Tim held his breath as his feet touched the bottom the pool. He opened his eyes against the sting of chlorine. Rhys moved in slow motion in front of him, kicking his legs to stay afloat, his clothes dancing with the water. Tim reached for his skinny waist and dragged him down with him.

When they surfaced, they both coughed and wiped at their faces with matching grins. Their breathing was heavy, mingling in the space between them. Rhys’ face had gone even pinker. He met Tim’s eyes, water clinging to his dark eyelashes. Tim could hear his own heartbeat.

[full size](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/233411381892874241/386697087485476864/blbb_pool5.png) [[lelelego]](https://lelelego.tumblr.com)

Rhys kissed him.

His lips were soft and warm and Tim could smell the beer on him through the sharp scent of chlorine stuck in his nose. Rhys kissed him like they had all the time in the world, like they could do this again and again and never stop. Tim leaned into it, responding in kind, his hands hesitant at his sides, unsure if he could touch. Unsure if he should.

Rhys pulled away, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. Tim swallowed. Rhys smiled and ducked lower in the water. He splashed Tim again with a laugh before backing away. Tim grinned and chased him down, and they started all over again.

 

* * *

 

Tim woke the next morning to a call from the mechanic. Someone was driving out to the next town to get the part they needed to fix the car. Once they had it, getting the car back in working condition wouldn’t take longer than an hour. He roused Rhys from sleep and they packed up what few things they’d brought into the motel with them and headed back over to the Walmart to grab a quick breakfast.

As they sat out on the curb under the early morning sun, Tim couldn’t stop his mind from wandering to the previous night. His lips tingled from the kiss he and Rhys had shared. Tim could still feel the heat of Rhys’ body, pressed close to his. His heart squeezed in his chest, and he thought, not for the first time, about how unfair this was.

He glanced sidelong at Rhys, who was picking at his breakfast burrito. Tim took in Rhys’ features, wanted to commit them to memory. His eyes followed the curve of his jaw, his soft chin and big eyes. His baby face. He wondered what Rhys would look like five years from now—his face sharper, maybe. Taller. His voice deeper.

“What?” Rhys asked, chewing on a piece of tortilla. “Is there something on my face?”

“Yeah.” Tim lied. He reached forward to brush his thumb against Rhys’ cheek. Tim smiled when he pulled his hand away. “Got it.”

Rhys hummed what sounded like a thankful noise, his face going just a little pink, and finished off the rest of his breakfast. Tim glanced at his phone. They probably didn’t have much time before the car was fixed. He looked at Rhys again.

“You wanna take a walk?” Tim jerked his thumb toward the wheat field just a ways up the road.

Rhys shrugged. “We’ve done everything else at this pit stop.” He brushed his hands on his jeans and stood, before extending one for Tim.

Tim took his hand, squeezing tight, and got to his feet.

[full size](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/371349178850476033/386989715875692544/BLBB2.png) [[cmdonovann]](https://cmdonovann.tumblr.com)

The wheat practically sparkled under the light of the sun, swaying in the wind like a golden ocean. Tim breathed deep. Rhys didn’t wait for him, wading into the tall wheat and bending the stalks away from himself. The sun bounced off his skin and shone through his hair; Rhys turned to look back at Tim, and the light caught on his eyelashes.

Tim smiled and followed him into the field. Maybe they should have been wearier about trampling on someone’s crops, but Tim couldn’t find it in himself to care. Especially not when Rhys found a nice little space between the stalks and sat down, his knees to his chest. Tim let out a sigh and dropped down beside him, stretching out on his back. He looked up at the blue sky, at the soft, white clouds that gently floated across it.

He could do this every day. Tim wished he lived somewhere more secluded like this. Less people, less noise. He’d never been particularly close with nature, but he’d never appreciated it quite like this before. Maybe he’d move out of the city someday after he graduated and buy a house in some tiny town in the middle of nowhere. He’d be able to count the people who knew his name on one hand. There was something comforting about that.

“I like it here.” He said, glancing up at Rhys, who was picking apart a leaf. “It’s...cozy. Y’know? I bet the people who live here are real tight-knit.”

Rhys made a face, sticking his tongue out. “This place sucks.” He said it so frankly that Tim let out a startled laugh.

“What? Why?”

“There’s nothing to do, first of all.” Rhys said, tossing his shredded leaf aside. “And I bet all the people who live here are serial killers or something.”

“All of them?”

Rhys tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Okay, there’s probably a sheep fucker somewhere in the mix.”

Tim snorted. “That’s harsh. They all seemed pretty nice to me.”

“That’s how they get you.” Rhys said, nudging Tim in the side. “They act all nice when you’re new and then turn around and hack you up into a million pieces. Or fuck your sheep.”

“Well it’s a good thing I don’t have any sheep.”

“So you’d rather be killed and served for dinner?”

“They’re cannibals now, too?”

“Maybe.” Rhys shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever they are, if you’re not like ‘em, you’re not welcome. You saw the way that cashier was looking at us, right? Probably told all her friends that you’d make for a good stew. Watch, there’s going to be something _else_ wrong with the car, and they’ll invite us to stay with them for a night so they can get to us while we’re asleep.”

“Wow. You thought a lot about this?” Tim rose an eyebrow.

Rhys shrugged again. “Like I said, nothing to do.”

“Well,” Tim said, propping himself up on his elbow. “There’s always stuff to do in LA, and probably less cannibals than you’re imagining.”

Rhys tipped his head back. “Ugh, I can’t wait.”

“Lots of different people there,” Tim continued. “You’d never meet the same one twice.”

Rhys smiled, his eyes closing. “That sounds nice. Room to breathe.”

Tim followed the curve of Rhys’ neck with his eyes, the upwards tilt of his pink lips. Tim swallowed, his mind going back to last night in the pool. The feel of Rhys’ lips against his own. How he finally found something he never thought he deserved to have—how it’d be gone come this time tomorrow.

“Rhys.” Tim said, the name catching in his throat like barbed wire. “Can I kiss you again?”

Rhys opened his eyes and turned them on Tim. They were soft, the skin around them just barely crinkled as Rhys smiled. He leaned down and pressed his lips against Tim’s. They were just as soft as Tim remembered, and he responded with enthusiasm. He felt Rhys’ fingers against the side of his face and covered them with his own, soaking up as much of Rhys as he could.

Tim’s phone rang, chirping loudly from his pocket. He sighed and reluctantly pulled away from Rhys to answer it. The car was fixed. They could leave. Tim looked at Rhys once more—watched him run a hand through his messy hair—and he wished for a moment that the car wasn’t fixed, that it never would be.

Rhys pulled Tim from his thoughts and to his feet and they headed to the garage.

 

* * *

 

Tim drove through the afternoon and well into the night and the next morning to make up for the lost time. It was dark and the early morning was quiet when he finally pulled into his apartment’s parking lot in the heart of Sacramento. He switched off the car and rubbed his tired eyes, feeling the exhaustion deep in his bones. Tim looked over at Rhys, who’d fallen asleep some time ago, his forehead pressed against the window, mouth just barely parted.

“Rhys,” Tim whispered into the dark. He shook Rhys’ shoulder gently. It was enough to get him to stir, and Rhys sat up with a tired groan, rubbing at his eyes.

“Where’re we?” Rhys mumbled, looking out the window.

“Sacramento.” Tim said, though he wished they weren’t.

“Oh.” The word fell from Rhys’ mouth like a stone into a deep well. “I should…” He reached for his backpack. Tim watched Rhys’ fingers hesitate on the zipper. “Where’s the bus station?” He wasn’t looking at Tim.

“It’s almost three in the morning.” Tim said. “We’re at my apartment. You can stay the night.” It came out more like a demand than an offer, but Tim couldn’t find it in him to care. It wasn’t selfish to keep Rhys another night, not if Tim was offering him a place to sleep. Not if it would keep Rhys away from a bus station at three in the morning. That’s what he told himself.

He could barely make out Rhys’ face in the darkness, the barest hint of light catching his profile. Rhys yawned and rubbed at his face again, mumbling a quiet “okay” under his breath.

Tim ignored the flutter in his chest and lead Rhys upstairs. He gave Rhys his queen-sized bed and took the couch in the living room.

Tim fell asleep as soon as his head hit his pillow.

 

* * *

 

Tim frowned into his nearly empty fridge later that morning when the sun was up. He wished he had the excuse of not buying groceries before going on a weeklong trip, but the fridge almost always looked like this. There was just barely enough milk for two bowls of cereal, and Tim sheepishly slid one in front of Rhys.

They ate in companionable silence, even though Tim wanted to say something. Anything. He wanted Rhys’ attention for just a little longer. There was nothing _to_ say though. This was the end of the road. Once Rhys was in LA, they’d lose touch, forget about each other—maybe this would be a funny story Tim could tell his friends. _Remember that time I picked up a hitchhiker?_

The train station wasn’t far. Tim walked Rhys the half mile there and waited while he bought a ticket for the next bus headed to LA. The whole station stank of gasoline and exhaust from the buses idling in the lot. The last time he was here felt like a lifetime ago, though it had really only been a few years. He remembered Jack at his side, practically shoving him off the bus in his haste to get off, to taste freedom.

“Hey!” Rhys nudged Tim in the side and held up his freshly-printed ticket. “I got lucky, there’s a bus leaving in twenty minutes.”

“Wh—that soon?” Tim blinked, shrugging out of his thoughts like an old blanket. He’d been hoping to spend just a little more time with Rhys before he left—even just sitting on a bench and talking while they waited. Maybe this was better.

“Yup. Number 86.” Rhys said, and when he spotted the right bus, he made a beeline for it, pulling Tim along behind him. They stopped in front of the bus and Rhys turned on his heel, his fingers slipping away from Tim’s wrist.

“Thanks.” Rhys said, holding his ticket with both hands. “For everything, I mean. This whole week. I probably owe you like a million favors.”

Tim shrugged and looked at the spot just past Rhys’ shoulder. “It was nothing.”

“It wasn’t.” Rhys said, his voice turning serious. Tim pulled his gaze back to meet Rhys’ eyes. There was something in them, in the way Rhys was looking at him right now, that Tim could feel almost physically. He couldn’t place it. He didn’t look away.

Rhys sighed audibly, and his smile came back. “I don’t have a phone right now, but you can email me. If you want. Got any paper?”

Tim patted down his pockets, but there was only his wallet and a half-pack of gum. He checked his back pocket—and pulled out the napkin Rhys had signed for him at the diner.

“Oh man, you kept that?” Rhys laughed when he saw it, and Tim didn’t even bother trying to hide his flush. “Shoot, I don’t have a pen though.” Rhys said as he searched through his own pockets. “Guess you’ll just have to remember it. It’s Rhys dot Oliver at gmail dot com. Got that? It’s pretty easy. Really easy, especially if you have that autograph, you dweeb.”

Tim nodded.

“Say it back.”

Tim smiled, couldn’t help it. “Rhys dot Oliver at gmail dot com.”

“Good.” Rhys briefly glanced away, above them, before looking at Tim again. “If you haven’t emailed me by the time I’m at the dorm, I’m gonna be pretty bummed, so don’t forget.” He took a step backward, toward the bus, hesitating with the toe of his shoe pressed against the pavement.

“I won’t forget.” Tim said and meant it.

“Good.” Rhys said again, taking another half a step back. The bus’s engine revved, nearly deafening with how close they were to it. Rhys glanced back at the open door. When he looked at Tim again, Tim’s heart stopped. Rhys closed the distance between them, retracing his steps until he was close enough to tilt his head up and kiss Tim. It was short, too short in Tim’s opinion. Rhys pulled away too soon.

“Bye Tim,” Rhys said with barely a breath of space between them.

Tim swallowed, resisting the urge to pull Rhys back in. Instead he said: “Bye Rhys.”

Rhys boarded the bus. Tim watched him hand his ticket over to the bus driver through the open door, then watched him find a seat, right against the window. Rhys waved at him through the glass. Tim stayed and watched the bus pull away from the curb, watched it slowly make its way to the street and turn into the lane for the highway. He watched it disappear in a sea of cars.

Tim looked down at the napkin with Rhys’ name on it. He ran his thumb over it and slipped the napkin back into his pocket. Then he went home.

 


	2. epilogue (6 years later)

Rhys’ life plan had been the same since he was ten years old. He would get away from his small town. He would go to a top university and sign up for every internship opportunity presented to him. He’d graduate with his bachelors, and then his masters, with honors and a GPA above 4.0 and he’d go on to work at the most technologically driven company in the country. Rhys would stay there long enough to absorb everything they had to teach him, and then, when he felt ready and he had the funds to back it up, he’d start his own company. 

That was the gist of it anyway. There were a few details between the major bullet points--like entering a robotics competition in his third year only to meet Lawrence DeQuidt, a leading engineer at Hyperion--things that Rhys didn’t plan in advance, didn’t expect. Sometimes for better or worse.

Rhys had always just kind of assumed his parents would be at his graduation. Every time he imagined it, he saw himself in a blue robe beside his mom and dad, waiting for their picture to be taken. Maybe his dad would clap him on the shoulder and say ‘i’m proud of you, son.’ 

His parents were not at his graduation. Rhys had his picture taken on stage with the dean. Then he took pictures with Vaughn and Yvette much later, when they’d all been drunk at their favorite bar. 

Rhys hadn’t been entirely surprised when his invitation had been met with silence, but it still stung. An ache that had dulled over the years but an ache nonetheless. In the end, he did what he’d been doing for six straight years: forgot it and moved on. His family was background noise. The place where he came from wasn’t going to haunt him. It wasn’t going to mess up his timeline. It wasn’t something he needed to fix. 

\--

A week after graduation, Rhys was on his way to lunch with Vaughn and Yvette. It was something they did every Sunday, a chance to see each other before the school week started up again. After school ended, they decided to keep the tradition going. Sometimes they went out to eat, but usually they stayed in and ordered takeout. Even rarer, they’d actually cook for themselves. 

Today was one of those rare days and Rhys was running late. He was supposed to be in charge of buying the pastry dough for some French dessert recipe Yvette had been going on about. His usual store had been out and he’d had to go to the one five miles away. Rhys had already tried calling and asking if he could just substitute with pizza dough but Yvette had nearly yelled at him.

He sighed as he grabbed the chilled dough from the shelf. Rhys wasn’t sure why Yvette still tried to bake. It never turned out well--either too sugary or too salty or undercooked. Rhys made a face, remembering the last batch of cookies she’d forced on him and Vaughn. It had felt like having a mouthful of sawdust. 

Rhys looked up at the signs above the store aisles. If Yvette made something disgusting again, Rhys wanted a backup. He made a beeline for the ice cream aisle and grabbed himself a pint of mint chocolate. 

He had to refrain from letting out a frustrated groan when he saw the line for the checkout. It extended all the way into one of the aisles, held up by some old woman and what looked like about a million coupons. It was the only lane open. With a huff, he stepped into the back of the line. At least there was plenty to look at. The aisle shelves were lined with colorful magazines and puzzle booklets and even actual novels. 

Rhys skimmed over the magazine covers. At least five were alight with pictures of some royal baby who’d just been born. There were sports magazines with athletes staring soulfully out at the reader, health magazines that proclaimed ‘50 New Ways to Lose Weight!’, and a few issues of GQ with some very well-dressed men on the covers. Rhys considered grabbing one of the GQ’s, purely to look at the fashion, but something else caught his eye. 

One of the books had a bright safety yellow cover and huge black text that read:  _ The Unauthorized Guide To Picking Up Chicks Vol. 4.  _ It had a picture of a baby chicken beneath the title. 

There were  _ four  _ of those? Rhys rolled his eyes, his gaze landing on the book just below it. This one was considerably more pleasant to look at. A dusty highway road ran across the cover, backed by a pure blue sky. There was a figure just slightly off-center, their face shadowed by the hat they wore, looking somewhere off the page. They had their arm up and their thumb out. 

_ The Way Home _ , the title read in a hand-written font.  _ By Timothy Lawrence.  _

Rhys blinked, struck by an overwhelming sense of familiarity. He thought of long open roads and the hot sun on his skin. He thought of a huge, white cross, and kissing in a pool at midnight. 

He remembered hitchhiking from Maine to California. Of course he did. Maybe the details had gotten a little fuzzy in the what, six years since then? But he remembered the man who’d picked him up at a gas station. Rhys remembered brown, freckled skin and blue and green eyes, could even remember the little dimples that appeared when the man smiled. Tim. That was his name, wasn’t it? 

Rhys tucked the pastry dough under his arm and grabbed the book from the shelf. He flipped it open to the first page. The foreword was some poem he didn’t know and he skipped past it, flipping through the pages until he came to the back. 

‘About The Author.’ 

There was a picture. It was Tim. Timothy Lawrence. He looked a little older than Rhys remembered, but there was that same square jaw, those same freckles. The dimples were out in full force as Tim smiled at something out of view. 

Rhys’ heart thumped against his ribcage. 

The last time Rhys had seen Tim had been at that bus station in Sacramento. Rhys had kissed him. Tim had emailed Rhys just like he’d said he would. Rhys remembered talking to him for a few weeks. He didn’t remember who stopped replying first. 

Someone cleared their throat behind him and Rhys looked up from the book. The line had moved. He clutched the book to his chest as he hurried to the register.

\--

The story was familiar, but there were a few embellishments. Rhys was pretty sure they never made a pitstop in a casino and lost all their money. There was also a lot more kissing than he remembered. 

The ending, though, was exactly how it happened.

The bus stop. The kiss goodbye. And then it was over. 

Rhys scanned over those last few words again, before flipping to the ‘About The Author’ section again. He wondered how long it took Tim to write this, if he was working on it while they were together. Rhys hadn’t even known Tim was a writer. He flipped the book’s pages between his fingers, thoughtful. 

It wouldn’t hurt to look Tim up, would it? 

He turned on his laptop and typed ‘Timothy Lawrence’ in the google search bar. The first thing that came up was some old British man; Rhys frowned and added the title of the book to his search. 

Ah, much better. The same image of Tim that was in the back of the book popped up on the right side of the screen. Wow, he had his own Wikipedia page. It was woefully short and didn’t give Rhys any new information, except--apparently Tim was related to _Jack_ _Lawrence_ , trillionaire CEO of the Hyperion Corporation. Rhys had seen him around work a few times, but even breathing in Jack’s direction was about five miles above his pay grade.

Rhys scrolled down. 

_ Appearances.  _

There was a list of book signings and readings Tim had done over the past few years. The most recent was only a few weeks ago, in Nevada. His eye caught on the next line--

Tim was scheduled to have a book signing next week right here in LA. Rhys had never heard of the bookstore he’d be at, but it wasn’t far from his apartment. Rhys swallowed. He could go. He could go to the book signing and see Tim again. Talk to him. Rhys’ heart fluttered in his chest. He couldn’t believe he was still crushing on this dude after so long. Rhys could still remember the feel of Tim’s lips against his own, the scratch of late night stubble under his fingers. 

Rhys shut his laptop, his face warm. 

\--

The week passed by at an agonizing pace. Rhys was loaded with boring, tedious work that only seemed to make the time go by even slower. When he finally, finally, left work that Friday, he pulled his tie free from around his neck and rolled up his shirt sleeves. He checked his reflection in the window of a parked car, frowning as he pushed his hair back into order. 

He had Tim’s book in his messenger bag, safely tucked away as he headed to the bookstore down the street. 

_ Skylight Books _ , the glass outside of the shop read in neat type. Rhys couldn’t remember the last time he’d stepped foot in an actual bookstore. He wasn’t sure if he ever had. 

The store was overcrowded with shelves, with only tiny aisles for walking between them. Toward the back, he could see a small crowd gathered together--that had to be the signing. Rhys made his way toward the back of the store, taking a quick pitstop in the bathroom to check his appearance once again. When he stepped back out, he saw the small chalkboard sign with Tim’s name on it. 

God, this was really happening. 

Rhys stepped into the back of the line for the signing table and pulled the book out of his bag. There were only a handful of people ahead of him, and from here, Rhys could see him. 

Tim. 

He was sitting behind the long table, a stack of his books beside him. His skin was still the same shade of brown, his freckles in the same places, his hair the same style. Tim smiled at the person he was talking to, his cheeks dimpling. 

Rhys’ palm was getting sweaty. He wiped it on his pants as the line started to move forward. He watched Tim interact with the people ahead of him; he signed their copies, chatted with them for a few minutes. Some of them even asked to take a picture with him. He smiled in all of those too. 

When Rhys finally reached the front of the line, he held up his chin and stepped up to the table. Tim was still saying goodbye to the person ahead of Rhys, and when he turned back and unleashed that bright smile upon Rhys, Rhys felt his heart stop short. 

It was instantaneous, the recognition in Tim’s eyes. They widened, and his smile melted into something closer to shock. 

“Rhys?” He said. 

“Hi.” Rhys smiled, couldn’t help it. He gently set the book down in front of Tim. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t how most of it happened.”

Tim floundered for a moment, his mouth opening and closing, before he looked away from Rhys, down to the book. The skin of his neck was turning red. “Um...artistic liberty? Or something.” 

“I liked it.” Rhys said, resting his hands on the table. “I’ll admit, I skimmed a lot of it. Never was a huge fan of reading, but I liked the parts about me.” 

“All of it’s about you.” Tim said, meeting Rhys’ eyes again. “I--how did you find that? How’d you know I’d be here?” 

“Uh,” Rhys snorted. “Duh. The internet.”

Tim shook his head, the grin finding its way back onto his face. “Right.” 

There was a loud sigh behind Rhys. When he glanced back, a man in line behind him had his arms crossed; he gave Rhys a pointed look. 

Rhys turned back to Tim. “Well, I don’t want to keep you from your adoring fans. Sign my book?” 

“Huh?” Tim blinked. “Oh, oh! Right, yeah.” He flipped the book open to the first page and signed his name. He hesitated a moment before closing the cover and handing Rhys the book. Rhys made sure to brush his fingers over Tim’s as he grabbed for it. 

Tim didn’t let go. 

“Do you…” Tim started. 

“Want to go out for coffee?” Rhys finished for him. “I’m buying.” 

Tim smiled again, his eyes dropping to the book, then back to Rhys. “Yeah.” He said, letting go of the book. “I’d like that.”  

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't sure if anyone would pick up on it, but Rhys is trans in this fic. I didn't want to put it in the tags, because I don't feel like it's something to tag for. I hope everyone enjoyed the fic, it was a lot of fun to write :^)


End file.
